In From The Cold
by r4ven3
Summary: A hidden scene from late in S8. It is Christmas 2009 and Ruth is avoiding the celebration at The George, but eventually decides she should do the right thing. Now three chapters in length.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N : I originally wrote this in late October for Harry's birthday, but since I'd already published two stories for Harry's b/day I thought three to be overkill. This was then adapted to fit into the Christmas season.**_

* * *

December 23rd, 2009:

Ruth was keen to reach the George to share a drink to farewell Harry before he took leave for two weeks. She had considered crying off altogether, but was surprised to find that she didn't want to. Harry almost never took leave, and so would likely view her absence as rejection, and she had no wish to hurt him, not any more. She was over an hour late. Choir practice had gone well over time, and then Dennis, the choir master, had had a little word with her about how well she was fitting in. Ruth was aware of Dennis's interest in her, but she had no interest in him. He was a nice man, but … he wasn't what she wanted if, in fact, she wanted a man in her life, and she wasn't sure she did. In her relationship past men had let her down, cheated on her, or died, which had provided far more drama than she'd ever wanted or needed. And Harry had only ever been an `almost', so he didn't even count.

Public transport would get her to the George some time in the next millennium, so she splashed out for a taxi. As she entered the lounge bar of the George the usual pub noise assaulted Ruth's ears – the thrum of voices punctuated with the staccato of ready laughter, the clink of glassware, all woven together by the soundtrack of an Adele song. By comparison, the tenors' apparent inability to sing Beethoven's words in sync was forgivable. Christmas decorations hung from every available light fitting, rafter and rail, garish and gaudy and kitsch as ever. Groups of people sat around the larger tables, party hats askew, drinks freely flowing, and kisses being exchanged between people who barely spoke for the rest of the year.

Then to her left she heard young female voices calling, "Skol, skol, skol," and sure enough, it was Heidi, Nicci and Gabi from admin playing a drinking game while Tariq looked on. Ruth looked around the room, expecting to see everyone else passed out under the table, but no, everyone was upright and in a state which could only be described as tidy.

Lucas spied her and stood, grabbing a chair from an adjoining table. "Sit next to me, Ruth, and tell me all about it." Clearly Lucas was a wee bit under the weather.

Ruth did as she was told and sat next to Lucas, who promptly headed to the bar to get her a drink. Ruth took the opportunity to observe the others at the table. She was surprised by the presence of Malcolm Wynn-Jones, who had retired at the time George had been murdered. He had watched her as she approached the table, and nodded and smiled when their eyes met. Ruth felt a strange pain in her belly. His presence brought back so many memories which she had believed she'd quite successfully put behind her. Next to Malcolm sat Ros Myers, and they appeared to be deep in conversation. For a brief moment Ruth wondered what the two of them had to talk about, but soon let that thought go. It really was none of her business. Tariq and the younger ones formed a small clique of four at one end of the table. Watching them for a few moments it was clear to Ruth that Tariq quite fancied Gabi, and was attempting to impress her, while she was clearly more interested in consuming as many Bacardi Breezers as her small body could tolerate before sinking into a coma.

"Here, wrap yourself around these," Lucas said, placing two large glasses of white wine in front of her.

" _Two_ glasses?" she asked.

"You have some catching up to do, girl."

"Lucas, I haven't been a girl in quite some time."

"Then pretend you are. It's Christmas."

Ruth smiled at him. As much as she didn't quite trust Lucas, just for that night she was prepared to tolerate him. "So, what have I missed?" she asked, having made inroads into her first glass of wine.

"For a start, you've missed Harry."

"What?" Ruth looked around the room, and true enough, there was no Harry to be seen. "What happened?"

Lucas shrugged, and then took a healthy swig from his pint glass of lager. "He said he was tired, and he had work to do before he takes leave." Lucas then leaned close to Ruth, closer than the two of them had ever been. "My theory, for what it's worth, is that he was upset you hadn't turned up."

Ruth distracted herself by gulping her wine. She carefully placed her glass on the coaster and then lifted her eyes to Lucas. "There's no truth to that, Lucas. Harry and I were once close, but these days we're .. barely friends."

"I have eyes," he said, pointing to his left eye, "and I've watched you. I think you're lying." Lucas turned his head when some music played over the loudspeaker. "That sounds like Take That. Ros, we have to dance to this."

Ros frowned and then shook her head. "I can't. I have a broken leg."

"So your broken leg will match my broken heart," he quipped before grabbing Ros's hand and pulling her reluctant body towards the dance floor.

Ruth moved a couple of seats to sit next to Malcolm. They had so much catching up to do.

An hour and a half later Ruth had polished off three glasses of wine and was on her fourth, and still in conversation with Malcolm. She had listened while he told her about his three or so years of retirement – during which he seemed to not have actually retired – his mother and her failing health, his trips to China, Japan, Sweden and Thailand, and his immediate plans. Ruth commented occasionally, relieved at not having to talk about herself.

Rather than directly answer any of Malcolm's careful questions about life on the Grid, Ruth turned the questions around. "How did Harry seem to you?" she asked.

"Tonight?" Ruth nodded, grabbing her glass and taking a swig. "He seemed … distant, and disconnected."

"That's not unusual for Harry."

"I thought him more remote than usual … morose."

"Morose is Harry's second name."

Malcolm smiled. "He barely spoke to anyone."

"Well .. he has a lot on his mind these days. You know how it is."

"I think when he left here he went back to work. Anyone who was looking forward to his leave would be at home packing."

"Harry has never been like other people."

With that, the subject of Harry was closed. Within fifteen minutes the four youngest members of the Grid left to find a karaoke bar, and Malcolm began making excuses about needing to go home. Ros and Lucas were still on the dance floor, dancing to Lily Allen. Ruth decided she also should leave. So much for it being a farewell drink for Harry. Ruth saw little point in staying.

* * *

Ruth walked briskly to Thames House, as much to keep warm as to get there before Harry headed home. As she stepped on to the Grid all was quiet, and the lighting low. The light was on in Harry's office, his mobile phone on his desk, but he was nowhere in sight. He could be in the loo, or …

Ruth chose the `or' option. It took her less than three minutes to walk upstairs to the roof balcony. On the way there she pulled her gloves from her coat pocket and tugged them on, and as she stepped through the door into the night she adjusted her scarf so that it protected her neck and her chin. Sure enough, Harry was standing at the balustrade staring out over London. He was punching one gloved hand into the palm of the other, while the lights from the building opposite cast a glow over his profile. "The Christmas lights are lovely this year," she said, announcing herself.

Harry had no need to turn. He'd felt her presence the minute she'd opened the door. Maybe it was the change in air pressure, or perhaps they were linked by a fine thread, forever drawing them towards one another. As much as he found her presence painful, it was an exquisite pain, almost as necessary to him as air for breathing. She stood beside him, close but not touching. "I thought you had choir practice." He turned just enough to make eye contact, and then returned to surveying the city – his city.

"I'd planned to make it to the pub in time, but .. the tenors. I don't know why they struggle so. It's just _The Choral Fantasy_."

"Beethoven?"

"Yes. The _Allegro_."

"Lovely. That's the one with the variation on _Ode To Joy_."

"Yes. It's … rather beautiful, and we're all ready ... apart from the tenors. We have our performance tomorrow night, and as a choir we're not ready." Ruth gazed at his profile, noticing the smile on his lips. Harry had such a beautiful face, although she'd never tell him so. "I went to the pub, but you'd already gone. I hope you're feeling .. happy about your leave."

Harry twisted his mouth as he watched her with melancholy eyes, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. "Happy?" he said. "I can't remember when I was last happy, Ruth. I almost was when they brought you into that room nine months ago, but then everything went to hell, and the hell hasn't stopped. I haven't been truly happy since."

"We missed one another all day," Ruth rattled on, not wanting to address the source of Harry's angst. If she could just steer the conversation away from everything to do with George's death. "I had two of Jo's assets to meet, while you were … where were you?"

"Communing with the back-up Royal security team .. the ones who are about to take over from Team One." His voice was flat, emotionless.

Ruth had little idea how to deal with morose Harry – so distant, almost beyond her reach. "You must have friends, Harry, people you need to catch up with before you leave. Your family?"

On the word `family' Harry turned fully to face her, and she could see the hurt in his eyes. "Ruth .. do you know who my friends are .. my family?" Ruth watched as he held in his emotions, keeping his jaw steady. "Outside this building, this place of work there is no-one. Besides you, I don't really have friends, or friends I can trust like I trust you. As for family .."

"Surely you've contacted your children."

Harry looked away and took a deep breath. "My children. Well, I've screwed up there .. again. I haven't seen either of them in a while."

"How long is a while?"

Harry took his time, and Ruth was certain it wasn't because he was adding up the weeks – or months since he'd seen them. Again he sighed heavily. "Over a year for both."

"Harry .. that's .."

"Terrible?"

"No. I was about to say it's sad. You have children. You need to make time for them .. even if it's difficult."

"It's always been difficult. I'm busy, Catherine's overseas, Graham is working late shifts and sleeping during the day. We don't seem able to coordinate our respective schedules. They both manage to make time to see their mother, but when it's me… I can't say I blame them. I'm not always good company."

There was a reality to what Harry was saying. Feeling sad for him, Ruth removed one of her hands from her coat pocket and slid it through his arm, grasping his coat in case he pulled away. Rather than pull away, Ruth felt him lean a little towards her. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being .. kind."

"Is your world so dark, so empty that my being here and .. listening is the kindest gesture you've received today?"

Harry didn't answer her question directly. "That's the way it's been for .. some time." He wasn't about to confess that it had been that way since she left over three years earlier. "I'd dearly love to see more of my children, but ..."

"But what?"

"I fear I'm not good for them."  
"That's not true. You're a good man. You're their father. They only have one of you. You _must_ see them, Harry. If necessary you must move heaven and earth to see them." Ruth felt a knot of emotion in her belly, but she kept going, swallowing deeply. "You must at least try," she said, her voice breaking before two heaving sobs escaped her. She took the deepest of breaths and grasped the sleeve of Harry's coat, clinging to him with both hands while she breathed slowly and deeply, attempting to push down the knot of grief.

She couldn't. It was too much for her to carry, to again and again push to the back of her throat whenever someone mentioned children, or children without fathers. Catherine and Graham shouldn't have to join the many lost children whose fathers were either disinterested, too busy or dead - like she had been lost after her own father had died, like Nico was now lost since losing his father. So many children floating around untethered. Ruth bent over a little, her hands still grasping the sleeve of Harry's coat, and allowed herself to feel. It hurt. God, it hurt so much she feared she would snap like a twig. She sobbed some more, gulped, swallowed again, and then she allowed herself to cry.

Once she had calmed and her hacking cries had eased she couldn't have described how it was that she came to be enveloped in Harry's arms, his face close to hers, his voice deep and soothing. She had no memory of it, or of the words he had spoken, words which provided solace and hope. All she knew was that she wanted them to remain that way, embracing in the cold night air, to never again be apart, and this surprised her far more than had her ready tears.

Once her crying had stopped, Ruth sighed and grasped the lapels of Harry's coat in her hands. "Thank you," she said quietly, moving slightly to step out of the embrace, unable to look him in the eye.

"Don't," he said, tightening his arms around her, one hand pressed against the small of her back. "Don't move."

Again Ruth allowed herself to sink against his body, to feel warm and safe and needed, her cheek against his shoulder, her nose so close to his skin. His coat smelled of the moist December night air, but there was also his unique male smell. In spite of everything, she loved his smell. They stayed that way for some time, until Harry spoke against her temple, his voice sending tremors through her whole body. "Let me take you home, Ruth. You need to be somewhere familiar."

Harry drove her home, the car cruising smoothly through the suburban streets to her flat.

"Thank you," Ruth said after they had been travelling in silence for fifteen minutes or so.

"For what?"

"For being there. For caring .. despite the way I've treated you ... these past months."

"I could never blame you for that, Ruth. You lost everything."

"Not quite everything."

He pulled up outside her flat, a former safe house. How had this fact escaped his attention? Surely it was time Ruth had somewhere better .. more permanent to live. "I'll see you to your door," he said, unbuckling his seat belt.

Ruth invited him inside for coffee and he accepted. As they sat at Ruth's small kitchen table, hot cups of coffee in their hands, Ruth talked quietly about how it was Nico she missed so much more than George. She talked of how much guilt she had carried over Nico's loss of his father, and how this guilt had found a voice as anger towards Harry. She talked of her life with George, and how despite it's surface appearance as idyllic, it had already begun to slowly unravel, and would not have lasted the year.

"It was Nico I loved most," she said quietly, looking up into the eyes of the man she had missed, despite herself. "My life was lovely, but it wasn't built to last. I would have come home eventually." She had to look down to say the next bit. "I believed I loved him … George .. but loving him was like loving the boy you meet when you're holidaying in Margate. It wasn't quite real, and it was not made to last."

They sat in near silence while they finished their coffees. Harry felt a kernel of pain in his belly. He wasn't sure whether he was hurt because Ruth had wanted to love George, or because she had so readily moved in with him. "I should go home," he said at last.

"You don't have to. You can stay." Harry's face showed his shock and surprise. "I'm not propositioning you. I have a spare room."

"I am tempted, Ruth, but as much as I'd like to stay, I won't. I .. I'd like it .. if you agree .. were we to see one another again away from work. We've both changed during these past three years. We've each suffered ... losses. I don't want us to .."

"Jump straight into bed?" He nodded, eyes cast down. "Neither do I. Perhaps we should aim to spend some private time together."

Harry looked up, surprised. "Yes. I'd like that. We should do something .. soon, perhaps when I return from leave."

"Where are you headed? You haven't said."

"I'd planned to visit Italy, but .. I'm not quite up to it. I thought I might stay home for a few days. I need rest. Then perhaps I'll head across the channel for a week or so. The south coast of France might be nice."

"It's hardly the best time of year for a holiday, Harry."

"It is if you don't want to be rubbing shoulders with the rest of humanity."

"What are you doing Christmas Day?"

He looked up at her then. Should he tell her the truth? "I hadn't anything planned."

"Spend the day with me," she said quietly. "It's silly for us to each be on our own for Christmas."

"I'd like that."

Feeling that he had just bared his sad and unworthy soul to the woman he loved, Harry stood, taking his cup to the sink, where he rinsed it and placed it on the dish drainer. He then turned to see Ruth standing beside the table, so he joined her, standing close enough to her for him to breathe in her musky perfume and the fruity scent of her shampoo. "I'm sorry," he said.

Ruth reached out to grasp his hand. They stood in Ruth's small kitchen each looking into the eyes of the other, neither quite brave enough to say what was really on their minds. "Why?" she asked.

"For disappointing you."

"You haven't .. disappointed me."

"I feel like that's all I do, Ruth," and she shook her head in reply.

Harry was just about to turn from her and leave when she reached up to place her palm on his cheek, her thumb circling the skin close to the corner of his mouth, her fingertips rasping across his unshaven cheek. He could barely breathe. Was this Ruth? Did she mean this? She then reached up to kiss him, and Harry reached down to meet her, closing his eyes as his mouth met hers, savouring the moment, just in case it never happened again. The kiss was sweet and lingering. He wanted so much to pull her against him, but he didn't. They would take whatever-this-was slowly and gently. That was best. They were in no hurry, after all.

"Thank you," she said softly, "for being .. you."

"Did you mean it .. about Christmas Day?"

"Of course I did. We can spend Friday together, and then you can go off on your own for two weeks, avoiding humanity."

Harry swallowed, feeling slightly embarrassed that Ruth knew him so well. "I'd be happier were you to come with me," he said quietly.

"I have to work. Besides, we're supposed to be moving slowly. I think spending Christmas together might be enough .. for now. Ring me tomorrow, and we can organise a time."

Harry nodded, and feeling braver than he had in some time, he reached down to kiss Ruth. This time the kiss was longer, and there was ample time in which to create a memory to carry with him while he was away from her. He slid his arms around her, moving his hands over her back, committing every rib and muscle to memory. By the time the kiss ended both were very warm, their skin flushed.

Harry really didn't want to leave, but he knew he must. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said before he bent down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. He pulled away to gaze into her eyes for a long moment while he fumbled to find her hand, squeezing it between his fingers. Dropping her hand, he turned and walked down the hallway to the front door. He took his coat from the hook by the door, shrugging it on while he unlocked the door. He glanced back to look at her one more time before he left, quietly closing the door behind him. As holiday seasons go, this one had already been about as good as it gets.

As he drove through the night he fiddled with the radio until he caught the vocal strains of the Allegro to Beethoven's _Choral Fantasy_. He smiled in the dark. If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.

* * *

 _ **A/N: This was written as a one-shot, but I now have a couple more chapters written to round off the story. These will be published early in the new year.  
**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** **I was never sure whether I even wanted to continue the original Christmas one-shot. Once I began writing this it went in an altogether unexpected direction, and so I thought it worth continuing. Thanks so much for the kind reviews for Chapter 1.  
**_

* * *

Tuesday 5th January - late afternoon:

For around the twentieth time Ruth checked her phone. Perhaps four minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked, and no, there had been no messages or calls in that time. She then hurried into the kitchen to check that she had wine, single malt whiskey – which she'd bought especially for the occasion – and that the tea and coffee was ready to make should that be Harry's preference. An unopened packet of hobnobs – the ones with the chocolate chips – sat on the kitchen counter, just in case he was hungry.

Their Christmas together had been lovely. Much better than lovely, it had been warm and relaxed, and even surprising. They had been careful, even wary around one another, neither wanting to let their true feelings be known to the other. After an early dinner of roast lamb and vegetables Harry had lifted his finger and said, "I have something for you," and promptly headed outside to his car. Left at the table alone, Ruth had internally kicked herself. How had she overlooked buying Harry a Christmas gift?

He'd returned carrying a cardboard box, held closed by several long strips of duct tape. "This is for you," he said, smiling. "It's yours."

"But I haven't anything for you."

"Nonsense. You provided a wonderful meal, Ruth, and a place for us both to celebrate this holiday. Had I been at home alone I would have been eating baked beans and eggs, washed down with several whiskies. Then I would have fallen into bed." At the mention of the word `bed' they had each glanced up at the other, awkwardness hovering in the air around them like an uninvited relative. "Here," Harry had said, placing the box on the table in front of Ruth. "I want to see your face when you open it."

Ruth had stood up and begun tearing the tape from the box. "So long as it's not an animal," she said. "There's barely room for me in this flat. I could never -" She'd stopped talking in mid sentence. Inside the box were books – the books she'd had to leave behind when she'd left London after Cotterdam. She'd reached in to grab Homer's _Odyssey_ from the top of the small pile, drawing it close to her face so that she could smell it. "These are _my_ books. Harry, how did you -?"

"The day after you .. left London .. I went to your house and took some of what I thought you would want to keep. I never expected you'd return home, and by the time you did I'd forgotten I had these. I only remembered them yesterday, when I was trying to decide what to give you."

Ruth had been overwhelmed, tears spilling unchecked from her eyes to slide down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy. She'd put down her books and stepped into Harry's embrace. They'd stood next to the dining table for long minutes, her nose pressed against his chest, his arms encircling her. Privately, they each declared it to be their best Christmas ever.

Harry had left well before midnight, claiming a need for a decent sleep before he began packing for his time away. Ruth knew that what he meant was that he was tempted to stay, but wished to wait until he had returned from leave, until he had recharged his batteries.

Having worked every day since Boxing Day, Ruth had taken the day off. When the doorbell sounded she jumped. She knew it would be Harry, so she again checked the cups, biscuits, wine, wine glasses, whiskey, whiskey glasses – a large one for Harry, and a small one for herself – before she hurried to the door. When she reached the door she hesitated, suddenly unsure about whether she and Harry attempting to advance their relationship – after years of having been in a state of stalemate – was even a good idea. Another long and impatient ringing of her doorbell convinced her that they could do this, and even if they couldn't, they should at least try.

She opened the door to a revived Harry. As he stepped through the doorway to pull her against him in a warm hug, she noticed how clear were his eyes. His skin, when she lifted her face to his, was a little sun-kissed. She pulled out of his embrace to closely examine his face. "It must have been warm in … where was it you went? Nice? Menton?"

Harry distracted her with a kiss. It was a careful and gentle kiss. There was no passion in it, only relief that they were once again together. "I brought you something, but first … how have you been? How is the Grid?"

Ruth stepped right back, so that his arms fell away from her. "You want to know how the Grid is? Look around you. Is London still intact?"

"It appears to be."

"Then the Grid is fine. We are all fine."

"And you didn't even miss me."

"I didn't say that." Ruth reached behind him to close and lock her front door. "Let's go into the living room. I have the fire on."

They sat together on Ruth's sofa, sitting a little apart. Harry had opted for the red wine, and so they each held a glass of red while they stared at the gas fire across the room, taking occasional glances at each other. "When are you coming back to work?" Ruth asked, glancing quickly at his face. She knew her question to be mundane and impersonal, but the days apart had led to a distancing between them, a measurable drifting apart. It had been her idea that they not communicate during his brief time away. It had been he who had objected, but she had been adamant. Now she suspected it had not been one of her better ideas.

"Do you really need to know that?" he asked quietly.

"I suppose not. I imagine you'll be back at work tomorrow or the next day, so ..."

What followed was a long period of silence. Ruth could feel Harry's discomfort through the small distance between their bodies. He was not the same man who had so tenderly kissed her goodbye at her door before he left on Christmas night. "I have something I need to tell you," he said at last, his voice low.

Ruth felt a chill course through her body. He had met someone else. He had rethought them, and had decided that `they' were not a good idea after all. "What is it?" she asked at last, turning slightly to watch him. It seemed to her that he was afraid of saying whatever it was he needed to say. "Would you like a biscuit?" she said nervously. "I have hobnobs .. with chocolate chips."

Harry turned to face her, a gentle smile softening his features. His eyes took in her face, neck, chest, and then he searched for her clasped hands, reaching out to grasp them with his own hand. "I'm expecting you to not like what I have to say, Ruth, so I'm rather .. nervous."

"My father always used to say that if you have something you're afraid to say, but which still needs to be said, then just come out and say it."

"Wise words," he said, squeezing her clasped hands.

"Did you meet someone .. while you were away?" Ruth kept her eyes on their hands. He was not letting go. If anything, his grasp was tighter.

"In a way, yes, but not in the way you mean." Ruth's eyes darted up to meet his. Her heart was pounding inside her chest, and she felt a roiling of nausea in her stomach. She swallowed hard in an attempt to keep it down. "It wasn't another woman, Ruth."

"You're _gay_?"

Harry threw back his head and laughed. He stopped suddenly, realising that Ruth might be offended by his laughter, and he still hadn't answered her question. "You can't seriously believe me to be gay. We've kissed. On Christmas Day we stretched out on this sofa and enjoyed the very best session of snogging I've ever engaged in." When he saw the curve of a smile on her lips, he soldiered on. "I didn't go to Italy or France. Ruth .. I spent my leave in Cyprus."

Ruth tore her hands from his grasp with a strength even she didn't know she had. Then she quickly got to her feet, knocking the corner of the coffee table with her leg, so that her glass of wine rocked from side to side until Harry quickly rescued it. She had crossed the room to the kitchen doorway before she turned to face him, her eyes blazing. "Why didn't you tell me where you were going?"

By this time Harry was also on his feet, having placed both glasses of wine in the centre of the coffee table, hopefully out of harm's way. He took a step towards her, but her face told him he should not venture any closer. "How would you have reacted to that had I told you? Even I wasn't sure until I got to Nice and it all looked so .. terribly _nice_ that I had no wish to stay there. So .. I checked online for places to stay in Paphos and Polis, and I booked my flight." Harry waited for a response, but she was watching him, her expression unchanged. "I arrived in Paphos on the 30th." He waited, and watched. "I hired a car and drove to Polis on the afternoon of the 30th." Harry watched Ruth for a few long seconds, but she was still standing, watching him, her eyes conveying her hurt. "The next morning – the 31st – I rang Christina Kyriakou -"

"You _rang_ her? How did you know her name .. her contact details?"

Harry waited, taking a small step towards Ruth, and then stopping. "When I was notified about the sale of the house you and George had owned, she and her husband were listed as Nico's guardians."

He sighed heavily, having seen the quick flash of pain in Ruth's eyes at his mention of Nico. "Christina is George's sister-in-law. They're a close-knit family. Christina will protect Nico with her life .. which is something I failed to do."

"Ruth .. you did your best for him. And I did what I did .. for you."

"What gives you the right to make a decision like that on my behalf?"

Harry stood two metres from Ruth, his arms by his side, his fingers moving compulsively and nervously. "I wanted to surprise you," he said quietly.

"You certainly did that." Ruth seemed to have calmed, but she was not moving from where she stood.

Harry half turned, and gestured towards the sofa. "Come and sit down. What's done is done, and can't be changed." With his words, all the fight left Ruth's body, and she followed him back to the sofa. Again they sat beside one another, and Harry handed Ruth her wine glass, which she took and held in her lap, turning the glass around and around while she watched the red liquid swirl up and down the inside of the glass. "What would you have done had I told you what I was planning?" Harry asked at last, his voice gentle and kind.

She looked up at him then with sad eyes. She shook her head. "I don't know. I suppose I would have shouted at you and told you to stop interfering in that which didn't concern you."

"But it does concern me, Ruth. What has affected you so profoundly also concerns me." Ruth nodded and then looked down at her glass. She took a small sip of wine. "I brought something back from Cyprus .. for you." Harry reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and lifted out a bulky envelope. "This is from Christina and Nico .. for you." Ruth put down her glass and took the envelope from Harry, turning it over and over, as if she didn't know how to open it. "Do you want me to leave you alone while you see what's inside?"

Ruth's eyes, when she lifted them to his, were wide and a little panicked. "No. Please. Stay with me." Ruth reached out with one hand and grabbed Harry's hand, grasping it tightly in her own. "I need you."

Harry very carefully extricated his hand from her grasp. "You'll need both hands to read what is in that envelope."

"Do you know what's in here?"

"Not exactly. Christina told me that she had written a letter to you, and that Nico had written to you also. I suggested that if he wants further communication with you that he should add his email address."

"Does he have one?"

Harry smiled into her eyes. "Not yet. I suggested that perhaps he should have one .. even if he only uses it for writing to you."

Harry sat beside her while she opened the envelope. There were two letters – one from Christina, written in Greek, and a page from Nico, written in English. Ruth read the letters in silence, and then she picked up the photographs and went through them one by one, describing each one for Harry before passing them across to him. "This is the most recent one of Nico," she said. "He's just turned eleven. And this is Nico with Christina and her husband, Theo. And this is another one of Nico .. with his cousins, Alex and Dimitri. Alex must be twelve or thirteen by now, and Dimitri is the same age as Nico. Only three months separate them." Ruth hesitated, holding the last photograph between her fingers.

"Ruth?" Harry said gently. "What is it?"

She silently handed him the last photo. It was an image of a grave, set against a sparsely grassed hillside. The inscription on the headstone was in Greek. He could make out the dates – _1967 – 2009_. "This is George's grave," he said quietly. He looked at Ruth and she nodded. She was dry-eyed, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing. He handed the photographs back to her. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

Ruth's eyes widened and she shook her head. "I need you here." She carefully folded the letters, placing them, along with the photographs, back in the envelope. "I'll read them again later," she said, laying the envelope on the coffee table. "Maybe tomorrow .. or the next day." As she sat back, Harry shuffled across to sit close to her, and slid one arm around her shoulders. He was relieved when she allowed her body to sink against him. He turned towards her so that he could wrap both arms around her, pulling her against his side.

* * *

 _ **A/N : Third and last chapter up in a couple of days.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: The Beggars' Rest pub exists only in my imagination. Thank you to readers and reviewers of this small story.**_

 _ **As has always been the case, Kudos still owns Spooks and the characters.**_

* * *

The Beggars' Rest pub – London W12 – Tuesday 5th January – 6.34 pm:

Harry had convinced Ruth that they needed to eat out. She had complained, stating that it was an unnecessary expense, especially when she had ample food in the flat. Harry's will and strength of purpose had won over Ruth's logic, based on her misguided sense that they must always choose the most economical alternative.

"I'm glad you insisted we come here," she said once they'd finished their first drink, and Harry had perused the menu, reading out his favourite dishes, along with a commentary, just in case Ruth needed help with her choice. "This place is … nice."

"You haven't been here?" She shook her head. "But it's hardly more than a twenty minute walk from your flat."

Ruth looked down, feeling embarrassed by what she was about to say. "I'd seen it while riding on the bus, and thought it appeared a little .. dangerous .. like a drug den."

Harry also looked down, attempting to suppress his smile. "As you can see, Ruth," he said, glancing up at her, "it is a fine and respectable public house." To add emphasis to his reply, Harry sat back in his chair and looked around him. The room was perhaps only one third full, and he had chosen a table for two near the wall, away from the bar and quiet enough for them to converse in peace. The wall lights were chrome fitted against dark walls, and glowed like a ship's lights on an indigo sea. "It has .. atmosphere."

Ruth nodded, smiling. She loved it when Harry teased her, his manner more flirtatious than teasing. "You've been here before," she said.

"I used to frequent this pub .. a long time ago, in my days with MI6. It was .."

"A meeting place for spies?"

He smiled and nodded. "It was somewhat grungier then. It had a reputation which kept decent people away. Now .. it's .."

"Fine for decent people like us. No spies, no drugs, no dodgy dealings."

"I didn't say that, Ruth. I suspect that in the back rooms deals of the dodgy variety are still made." Ruth looked around for the door to any such back room, but all she could see were directions to the loos.

Harry placed their food orders, and when their meals were delivered they ate in near silence. Once their empty plates were removed Harry ordered another bottle of wine – this time a Pinot Noir from the south-west region of France – and they sat back, sated and relaxed.

"Do you want to know what was in the letters from Christina and Nico?" Ruth asked at last, having conducted a long internal discussion with herself about whether it was even Harry's business to know. She had decided that it wasn't, but to keep the lines of communication open between them, she needed to at least make him an offer.

"I'm curious, of course, but it's also none of my business," he replied, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

"Did Christina .. resist meeting you? Did she ..."

"Argue?" Ruth nodded. "Not really. I told her my name was Martin Palmer, that I worked for the British government in London, and that I was a long time friend of yours, and that you had no idea I was in Cyprus, and that I was .. trying to bring you some .. closure .. a sense of peace."

"And she bought that?"

"I believe so. All except the name I used was the truth, so I suppose she recognised my .. honesty." Harry took a sip of his wine, and then placed his glass on its coaster. "I also believe that she was looking for her own place of peace."

"Did she know you were a spy?"

He sighed, looking around as he thought about her question. "The exact nature of my work was never mentioned. If she suspected I was, she never said."

Ruth nodded. "Her letter was surprising. I half expected her to accuse me of causing George's death. Christina can be quite volatile, although Theo – her husband, and George's brother – is gentler, quieter."

"A marriage of opposites."

"Yes." Ruth concentrated her gaze on her wine, which she intermittently sipped, and then she'd move the glass slightly, as if to place it in the exact centre of the coaster. "She was rather understanding .. about George, which surprised me. It seems she's had time to consider the experiences of everyone .. involved in George's death. She even thanked me for caring for Nico as I had. She said she was sorry things had turned out this way, and some time in the future, when Nico is older, she suggested that he might like to visit me in London .. if that is his wish."

As she'd been speaking, Harry lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "That's rather .. positive."

"I'd like that, if Nico were open to it. Also, you would have to … I'm sorry," she said, looking down in embarrassment, "I'm assuming a lot there."

"Not at all." Harry had felt a warm rush suffuse his chest as she'd begun to imply that he might still be in the picture some time in the future, and that he would also have to agree to and accommodate Nico's visits. "I would never stand in the way of Nico staying with you .. with us ..."

Ruth smiled into his eyes. So little had been said, and yet so very much. "Nico's letter was more … reserved. He asked how I was, and then said he missed his father very much, but he would still like to hear from me, because I remind him of his last days with George. Oh, and he's doing well in school, too, especially in Maths." Ruth momentarily dropped her eyes. "Just like his father."

"He began school again this week after the winter recess. I didn't get to see him or speak to him. Christina is very protective of him, and I can't blame her for that. I suggested that he have an email address so he can write to you, and she thought that a good idea. I suppose she has to run that by Nico - and Theo - before she does anything about it."

"Christina is quite technologically skilled. She's responsible for the website of their olive oil business. Theo and Christina run it with her brother, Stavros, and his wife and son. I imagine she'll be the one to decide when it's safe for Nico to again contact me."

Harry detected the heaviness and sadness in Ruth's body as she spoke. He longed to be able to love her enough to take away all the pain and the bad memories, but he knew that this was impossible. All he could do was to love her as best he knew how. "Do you plan to reply to Christina's letter?" he asked.

Ruth nodded. "I might take a week or two to work out what I want to say, and how best to say it. I'll have to word it carefully. I don't wish to appear too eager, and .. nor do I wish to open old wounds."

Harry took his time to reply to her. "As I see it, Christina has offered you, if not the hand of friendship, then .. at the very least it's a peace offering which you need to accept with both hands."

And so the subject of Cyprus and Nico and Christina Kyriakou had been exhausted .. for the time being.

* * *

Back in Ruth's flat, Harry was unsure of what he should do. Ruth seemed to expect him to stay, while he thought it best he go home to his own house. They had not long returned to her flat when Ruth began to make a pot of tea for them both.

"Perhaps I should go now," Harry said, hesitating just inside the kitchen doorway. "It's almost eleven."

Ruth turned to look at him, surprise in her eyes. "Why? I thought you might want to .. stay the night."

There. It had been said, The words neither of them had been brave enough to articulate. Those words had been wafting in the air around them ever since Harry had arrived at her door. Like the first wisps of snow of the season the words `will you stay the night?' had been continually falling around them, melting the moment they'd reached the floor, unseen and unheard.

Harry took a seat at the table. He had to think about this. He had the next day free, but he was due back at work the day after, and he had still to unpack from his holiday and launder his clothing. He looked up into Ruth's eyes as she placed the pot of tea on the table between them. She sat down, having placed cups and saucers in front of them. "The tea needs a minute or two to brew," she began, avoiding his eyes.

"What do you mean, Ruth?"

"Well, you know that leaf tea takes -"

"Not the tea. I want to know .. _exactly_ what you expect were I to stay the night .. here."

"I'm not sure, really. I was hoping you had a clearer idea. I thought you could sleep in the spare room. It's not that I don't want you to share my bed, because .." Ruth's words faded as she realised she had given herself away.

"Wouldn't it be a lot easier were I to simply .. go home?"

"It might be easier, but we've never been easy. We always take so long to say the simplest things to one another, and we've taken .. _years_ to get here .. to this kitchen, talking about sleeping arrangements."

Harry sighed heavily. He wanted to stay, but he still didn't know what that meant. He decided to drop the subject. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself. And still he had no idea what Ruth expected of him. They sat over their tea, saying little of consequence, each hoping the other had a more concrete plan for `them' than they did, each deliberately sliding around the subject of work.

"Let's sit on the sofa," Ruth suggested, after Harry had sighed for at least the fifth time. He was relieved. He just wanted to sit close to Ruth, and to not have to consider what they should be doing at whatever stage their relationship had now reached.

They settled together on the sofa, the teapot having been emptied while they'd been sitting at the table. Harry slid his arm along the sofa behind Ruth, while she leaned close to him, but not quite touching. After a few minutes of silence he turned towards her, pulling her against his side with his hand. To his relief she nestled into him. "This is nice," he said. "I could get used to this."

Ruth looked up into Harry's eyes and he reached down to kiss her gently. Then he kissed her again, and again. The kisses were becoming progressively more passionate, even urgent. Ruth pulled away, her eyes on his, waiting for his disappointment to show. "Too much?" he asked.

"No, but perhaps your timing could be better." Harry twisted his mouth to one side, and Ruth sat up and away from his embrace. "I have to work tomorrow, and to my practised eye you look out on your feet." He nodded. "I'll go upstairs now and make up the bed .. in the spare room."

Harry allowed his body to relax, and he slid sideways against the cushions at one end of the sofa until he felt comfortable. As disappointed as he'd felt when Ruth left the room, she was right. His few days in Cyprus had been stressful and ultimately exhausting, and during the time he'd been there he hadn't slept well. It could easily have turned out very badly, and the risk of him coming home with nothing was high. He closed his eyes and sank against the cushions.

When Ruth returned to the living room she touched Harry's shoulder, but he was in a deep sleep. She hurried back upstairs to grab a spare duvet to throw over him, and then she retired to her own room. At least he was still under her roof.

When next Ruth returned downstairs it was a little before six in the morning, and Harry was still asleep. She crept into the kitchen to make herself some tea, and then she showered, dressed and was about to leave for work when she decided to leave Harry a note, sliding it under his phone on the end of the coffee table, her spare front door key beside it. _Dear Harry,_ she wrote, _work beckons, so as much as I would love to join you on the sofa, I must go. Just pull the front door closed when you leave. Alternatively you are welcome to stay, but if you do I expect a hot meal when I arrive home. Ruth xx_

She had worried about the kisses at the end of her note, but she knew he'd like them, and not be offended. She was about to open her front door to leave when she returned to the living room to add a PS. _When you wake_ , she wrote, _I'd be happy were you to ring me. x PPS. The key is for you. xx  
_

Thames House - later that morning:

Ros was conducting an informal meeting in the meeting room with Ruth, Lucas and Tariq when Ruth's phone rang. She took her phone from her pocket to check the caller. "I need to take this," she said, glancing at Ros. "It's about my .. heating." She rose from her chair and moved to one side of the room, hopefully out of the others' earshot. All three pretended to not listen.

"Hello, Ruth speaking."

" _Are you missing me?_ "

"I'm at work -"

" _I know that_."

"- in a meeting."

" _Bad timing on my part, then._ "

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

" _I just had the sudden urge to tell you .. something .._."

"Something? What kind of something?" Ruth had lowered her tone to a whisper.

" _I thought it was high time I told you .._ "

"What?"

" _... that I love you_."

Ruth emitted a small gasp. "I already suspected that."

" _So .. you can't say it back?_ "

Ruth heard the smile in his voice. "No. As I already told you, I'm at work, and will be until at least six o'clock."

" _So .. should I end this call before they all try to listen in?_ "

"I think it might be too late for that," she said, looking up to see three sets of eyes watching her.

" _I'll get off, then. I'm at my house and I was just a bit .. bored._ "

"That sounds fine. I'll see you then." And Ruth quickly pressed End Call, and tucked the phone back in her pocket. She had only just sat back down again when her message tone sounded. She looked up apologetically, and getting a curt nod from Ros, she opened her phone and read the message: _Have I told you lately that I love you?_ Ruth felt herself smile, a blush beginning to form at her throat. Again, keeping her eyes down, she stuffed her phone back into her pocket.

"Right, we're all okay with our tasks, then," Ros said, before standing and turning towards the door. Lucas was already on his feet, ready to accompany her. "Er, Ruth .." she said, turning.

"Yes?"

"When is Harry due back? Is it tomorrow or the day after?"

"How should I know?"

Lucas quickly drew Ros out of the room, allowing the door to close behind them. "Not very subtle, Ros," he said, hurrying her along the corridor to the Grid, his hand at her back.

"I wasn't trying to be."

"Ruth may well have been talking to her plumber."

"So how come she didn't once mention the words: boiler, heating, or the key's under the mat?"

"I don't have all the answers," Lucas said in a loud whisper, "but I'm prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"She said the call was about her heating, and if my knowledge of code is up to date, that means she was talking to Harry."

"And how do you make that connection?"

"Keep up, Lucas," Ros said, striding towards her desk, leaving Lucas standing there wearing a bewildered expression. He thought he _was_ keeping up.

Back in the meeting room Tariq was gathering together his various sheets of paper when he looked across the table to where Ruth sat, distractedly fiddling with her pen. "It's all right, Ruth," he said kindly. "I must be the only one around here who knows the truth; that you and Harry are just good friends." Then he got up and left the room.

Ruth sat stunned. What had just happened? She had no idea. Perhaps Harry might know. For the first time in many years, she longed for the work day to end. Only eight more hours and she'd be home, and with any luck Harry would be there, dinner at the ready. She gathered her things and hurried from the room, smiling to herself. The phrase, `hurrying home to Harry' had rather a nice ring to it.

 _Fin_


End file.
